I suggested to my Dr Husband that I could try eating green apples for three days, followed by lemon juice and half a litre of olive oil to try and flush the buggers out… his eyes narrowed and with his most withering medical stare told me I was getting my gall bladder removed, “you idiot!” After looking at the scans, the surgeon said the same thing though with a much nicer bedside manner. (Sympathy for any medical conditions in our household are few and far between. The kids and I have to be vomiting through our eyeballs before Fiela looks even slightly concerned.) So ends my foray into ‘natural’ healing.

MXLLS​​

Anyway, I’m booked in and whilst lunch was a bit hard to stomach just before I had the pre-surgery appointment, the idea of 24 hours in a room by myself with nothing to do but cough when told to and take a large amount of painkillers… well that’s not hard to take at all.

Fiela will be working, the kids will be ensconced in a gluttonous frenzy of Nana and Poppy goodness and I’ll be lying down, perhaps in some pain, but at this stage it seems a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. I’m even thinking of slipping my South African surgeon a few rusks (they’re like cocaine to these new Australians) in the hope it’ll get me another night, or at least the rest of the second day.

And while I’m in there, I suppose I can start a list of all my internal body parts which aren’t super necessary, but require an overnight stay in hospital upon removal. Appendix… spleen… a kidney… one lung. Then I’ll have plenty of convalescent nights away from reality.

SXLLM​​

Or I could just work harder, pay for a night’s accommodation, a nanny, a beautiful meal and drinks without cutting my stomach open. Yes, perhaps I should just focus on that.